The Love of a Lifetime
by Maidenhair
Summary: Chritsine returns to the lair after the mob has done its work, yes I know there's 1000 of these, but this time there's a twist. What is the metalic box? Who are the men in white jackets?


**The Love of a Lifetime**

Disclaimer: I do not own POTO, though I wish I had directed the movie because I would have made a LOT of changes... of course those changes would have been handing over the job to Tim Burton... LOL, just kidding, I love POTO just the way it is! (Except I don't care for Raoul much.)

Author's note: I don't usually write just one version of POTO, so this is stage/Leroux version with a small amount of the movie in it. 

It was just as Raoul and Christine had reached the exact middle of the lake when the sounds were heard. Very faintly, just echoing faintly off the stone walls and caverns of the cellars, the sounds reached the duo's ears. The sounds were violent, vengeful noises of a group of people all united in one irate cause. They were the sounds of a mob.

Christine's heart leaped into her mouth. Even Raoul paused in his rowing. They both were asking themselves the same question, "Would they catch him?" -and of course they both knew who 'he' was. There was a moment of silence in which Christine told herself that Erik had escaped danger once again. However, the resounding shout of triumph that escaped down the tunnels proved her wrong. The colour drained from her faces as she realized what must surely be happening only a few meters behind her.

"Raoul!" she cried, looking pleadingly into the face of her friend.

The viscount shook his head, "No, Christine, don't you understand? Why else did he make so sure that we were away before the mob arrived? They take us for conspirators, Carlotta has seen to that. We'd be torn to bits if we went back!"

"Erik!" Christine exclaimed in a choked voice.

"He didn't _want_ to escape! Otherwise I'm sure such a person would have. Maybe the mob will simply detain him. He could go to a mental institute." Raoul tried to speak soothingly and confidently, but he knew that what he was saying was false.

Christine felt sick. She trembled and nearly fell from the boat. How could she leave her angel to be killed when she could still feel the titillation of his kiss against her lips and the sound of his voice in her ears? He would let himself be killed, and all the while believing that the only person whom he had any hope of receiving love from had fled him. She felt the same way she had when her father had been forced to shoot an injured dog she had found. She had held it, petted it, kissed its little head, all the while knowing that in a few moments it would no longer be alive. This feeling was even worse than that one. "We have to go back!" Christine insisted, tears in her eyes.

"Did you not hear what I said?" Raoul asked, "We cannot go back!"

Christine shook her pretty head emphatically, crystalline tears shimmering on her porcelain skin. She begged Raoul, clutching his arm violently as if to pull them back to her endangered friend. However, all attempts were useless, Raoul continued rowing the boat to the shore.

Christine remembered every sight of that ride from when she had first taken it with Erik. She felt as if she was in the presence of a ghost, for she seemed to see his eyes glimmering in every darkened corner. Finally they reached the land.

Raoul had to drag Christine from the boat. He held her gently, trying his best to comfort her. Though he felt hurt thinking that Christine was making this great of a protestation about the inevitable demise of his rival while she had _kissed_ the phantom as _he_ was tied and nearly killed. Yet, he remembered the closeness of their relations during the past years and understood her loss. However, for her own protection he would not allow her to return to a possible fatality at the hands of a bloodthirsty mob. From his time on ships he had seen the way the minds of humanity could behave when turned to a single intent by the will of others.

Christine had never truly hated anyone until that moment. She did not hate the doctors would could not save her father when he was dying. She did not hate the boys who had drowned her kitten when she was a little girl living with the Girys. She did not even hate Erik when he had threatened her and Raoul just a few moments earlier. She had said that she hated him, but she did not mean it. Yet, now she felt hate. She hated the mob, she hated herself, she hated Erik and she hated Raoul. It was a horrible feeling, but she could not help herself. Had she not suffered enough loss in her short life? If only she had not participated in the Don Juan scheme, then Erik would have never carried her off. If only Erik had enough sense not to let himself be killed. If only the mob would go away and become the ordinary people she knew them as. If only Raoul would stop trying to speak to her and let her go. She bit her lip until she tasted blood on her tongue and prayed that everything that had happened would have been a horrible nightmare.

Raoul led Christine out of the cellars and into the familiarity of her dressing room. He hoped that in the safe confines of this room Christine would be able to rest and calm herself. Alas for false hopes. The first thing Christine saw when she entered was a single, long stemmed, red rose tied with a black ribbon -a final gift from the phantom. Tears welled in her eyes as she discovered the blossom. Even worse that the rose was that which the rose had been rested on: a note. With tremulous hands Christine took the letter and tried to keep the tears from her eyes as she read its contents:

_My Dearest Christine,_

_I wish to beg your forgiveness for everything that I have done. I wish to be good, I know I can be if someone told me I could. I know you do not want to hear this, but I love you. Please, if you care for me at all, let me know. It is torture for me to stay like this. If you turn towards box five during the performance of Don Juan, I will know that you do care for me. If not, I will know that you hate me as all others do. Christine, please, I beg you, do not hate me. _

_Your friend and adulate admirer,_

_Erik_

The letter had been written in Erik's usual, childish scrawl and the words were equally childly. Somehow, this made the letter all the worse and Christine broke down weeping upon a nearby chair.

Raoul sat a ways away from her. He held his head in his hands and cursed luck. It would happen that Christine would find that note right then, would it not? Raoul thought bitterly.

Outside the door the sounds of people were suddenly heard. It was the mob, triumphant and victorious, returning from the fight. Christine looked numb and stared at the shadows from the crack under the door.

"We can go back now," she managed to say hoarsely.

"Christine..." Raoul pleaded. He did not want to see his friend wallowing on the cold, stone ground with the bloodied remains of a corpse.

"I have to see him!" she shouted, "He thinks I hate him! I didn't look to the box! I told him, oh heaven above, I _told _him I hated him!"

"Christine, I..." Raoul started.

"No, I will go," she replied, "For once in my life I will make a decision and follow through with it and I'm going! Stay here, Raoul, if you love me, stay here."

Raoul watched helplessly as Christine re-entered the darkness. He did not want her to weep alone over what she would surely find, and yet, a more troubling thought came to mind... suppose the mob had not found Erik at all but simply enjoyed looting his lair? What if he was still there, waiting? Would Christine be able to leave him then? Would she even want to? Raoul sank, heartsick upon the floor.

Christine ran as quickly as she had ever dared. She prayed she would find her way. Cobwebs clung to her face as she dashed through them, but she did not stop to wipe them away. After she was certain she could run no longer, she reached the lake. She climbed into the boat and paddled as best as she could. The boat was awkward in her inexperienced hands, but she finally coaxed it into movement. At long last she reached the destination that she both longed for and dreaded. She was at the lair.

She ran through the shallow water and searched about for her friend. She spotted him almost immediately. He was laying face down amidst the shambles that the lair had been degenerated to. Blood soaked his clothing and matted his thin hair against his skull. A large gash bled just above the nape of his neck.

Christine ran forward to him, turning him over in her arms and gently stroking the bloody tendrils of hair away from his face. She felt for him for a sign. To her great joy she felt his soft breath against her hand. She buried her face against his chest, crying softly. She took his large hand in her own and held it, hoping that he would feel her and know that she was there and that she cared.

Just at that moment, the sound of footsteps could be heard in the darkness. Soft, whispering voiced met her ears. She looked up, raising her tearstained face. Two men were in the lair and one was shining a strange light at her, one that seemed to come from a black tube in the man's hand.

The men were dressed in starched clothes and wore very clean, white coats. Strange, clear gloves made of some adhesive material covered their hands and an odd smell likened to chemicals and soap permeated from them. They carried black cases and behind them stood a great, rectangular box of metal that Christine was certain had not been present earlier.

The two men ignored her, one even shoved her aside, and they began to fixate their attention entirely upon Erik. They moved him gently, supporting his neck and muttering things to one another. They placed a strange, mask-like object over his mouth. It was made of an unidentified, clear material, and a long tube attached it to a tank of something that Christine did not recognize.

The men cut off Erik's shirt with a pair of small, very clean shears and began cleansing his numerous wounds with a collection of medicines that were alien to the trembling girl. The tallest man rushed to the metal box and pulled out a stretcher. They were going to take him away!

"Stop! What are you doing? Who are you?" Christine asked.

"Huh?" one of the men said. His voice was clearly not French. He looked to his companion who simply shrugged and proceeded to lift Erik onto the stretcher with surprising ease.

"I demand that you tell me!" Christine nearly screamed.

The shorter man walked over to her coolly. "Do you speak English?" he asked in labored French.

"Yes," she replied in the language. Her father had taught her to speak several languages on their travels.

"Good, then you know what Government Business means?"

Christine looked at him blankly.

"It means, you be a good girl and nobody gets hurt, ok?"

"Oh-kee?" Christine asked.

"Good, kid, that's just what I wanted to hear," the man said dryly. He pulled out a black box from his pocket and, much to Christine's surprise, spoke _into_ it. "Ok, we've got him."

A crackling voice that Christine could not decipher responded _from_ the box!

The man went on, "Yeah, I know it will cost! ...So what about the taxpayers! If they wanted to pay less money they shouldn't have voted that bill in! ... Uh-huh, sure he's ok. Once he's got a reconstruction surgery, about forty thousand stitches, a bone setting and a memory wipe, he may just make half the quality of life standards! ...Yeah, well at least we don't all go to the slammer for hiding him in the nineteenth century! ...Gosh, yeah! Who know all this would backfire!"

Christine watched as if she was dreaming as the men took Erik into the box. Then, the box itself began to fade away. The last words of the man still echoed in the air as the box disappeared:

"Yeah, just wait till his clone find out! Ok, see you at coffee break."

**That wasn't what you expected was it? Please review. Smiles!**


End file.
